Let Us Have Our Moment
Just for One Second.
I’d only ever wished to be seen with the same eyes. The words coming out of my mouth matched the ones of the guy next to me, yet when he spoke your look focused— intent on what he was saying— but when you turned to me it softened, as if the sentences flowing from my lips should be packaged up in bubble wrap and taken with caution.
See, your eyes meant so much to me. The approval I sought from you wretched through me like a storm chasing the sun. I really didn’t want to care, but my feelings don’t like it when I try to take control—they tend to fight back. So I lived with having to please you— without you even knowing I was trying. I accepted your soft looks but ached for harder ones, deeper ones that looked at me earnestly. They were far and few between.
I became angry, defensive— how dare you not take what I say with weight, the same weight, equal weight. I got mad, then sad, then sat with the fact that you just can't teach an old dog new tricks. Boys will be boys until a man points out that they should act different.
So I stopped caring. I blinded myself of your gaze— I spoke with pride in my chest and acted as if you held onto my every last word like your life depended on it. My blissful ignorance led me to great places and endless, shameless, blabbing before I realized what I ignored for so long didn’t even matter anymore. All I ever needed was apathy.
We’ve always been here, women’s sports. Quietly in the background of your 3 month playoffs and 4 rounds of wild cards we’ve peddled patiently, playing for those who truly just support us and our game. Buried on ESPNU beneath corn hole tournaments and ax throwing competitions you can find us tucked away on the corners of streamers and 600’s channels, hidden but still visible to those willing to find it.
While we were in the background we did some pretty cool things. We won 23 grand slams and became the most decorated Olympians in history. We broke records and barriers, ideas and notions about what we could do within the lines you drew for us. Then we drew new ones, with red ink and fresh paper.
Our confidence came without your validation. Once we realized that just because you aren’t watching doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be playing— we couldn’t be stopped. Your eyes became an afterthought. We realized we didn’t need them— we just needed ourselves. To support ourselves, improve ourselves, uplift ourselves. We trusted that when there's talent, it will be found. In the meantime we forged a fanbase of people who truly supported us before the flashy 3’s and undeniable gold medals. People who just appreciated talented women playing sports and playing them hard.
But you found us. You got here eventually. It just became too undeniable— the greatness we crafted from our fingertips. I commend your eventual recognition, your come around spirit on our talent. I’m glad you’re here. The party is better when there’s more people to help celebrate— the room is fuller and the energy is brighter. All I ask is that you don’t make it about you. That you finally started watching and you finally started noticing how women have got game. That you realized how much money there is with us and that half the population may want to see more of themselves on TV, a big TV, on a major station with good production and real validity. Real sincerity. Real eyes.
No, you can’t make this about you this time. Let us have our moment. The most well deserved moment in a very long time. An exhaling moment of relief and pain and joy for us. A moment when you finally realize your eyes should have been on us the whole time. That we deserve to be the commanding voice, the center of your universe— just for one second— all eyes on us.
We’re glad we finally have your attention— now can we play some basketball?
This is awesome.